PROLOGUE

I didn't come to the bar to have fun. I came because I wanted to forget.

Forget the pain. Forget the betrayal. Forget the people who had turned my life into something I could barely recognize. Most of all, I wanted to forget the version of myself who had once believed that loving someone with all her heart would be enough to keep her from getting hurt.

How stupid of me.

I used to believe that love was supposed to be a safe place. Somewhere I could run to when the world became too cruel, where I could lay down all my fears without worrying that someone would use them against me. I thought that if I gave someone enough love, enough patience, and enough understanding, he would eventually realize how precious it was to have someone who would choose him even on his worst days.

I remembered the way I used to smile whenever his name appeared on my phone. How a single message from him could turn my worst day into something beautiful. I remembered the promises whispered against my forehead, the fingers intertwined with mine, and the way he would look at me as though I were the only woman in the world.

I'll never hurt you, Santiara. I promise.

The memory came so suddenly that my fingers tightened around my glass.

I could still hear his voice. I could almost feel the warmth of his hand against my cheek, the tenderness I had once mistaken for forever. For a moment, I was that woman again—the one who believed every word he said, who trusted him enough to place her heart in his hands without asking what he intended to do with it.

Then the memory changed.

The warmth disappeared, replaced by a coldness I could still feel long after the moment had passed. The words that followed his promises had cut deeper than any insult ever could. I remembered the unbearable weight in my chest, the way my breath had caught in my throat, and how desperately I had searched his face for an explanation that might make everything hurt a little less.

But there had been no explanation that could undo what I had learned. No apology that could return me to the woman I had been before everything fell apart.

And the worst part?

Somewhere beneath all the anger and humiliation, a foolish part of me had still wanted him to choose me.

I hated myself for that.

Now, I was sitting alone at a bar, drowning myself in alcohol like a pathetic woman who had nothing left to lose. Maybe I was. Maybe there was nothing left inside me worth saving.

"Another drink," I told the bartender, raising my empty glass.

He eyed me suspiciously. "Ma'am, you've had enough. You're already drunk."

I let out a bitter laugh. "And whose problem is that?"

He shook his head, clearly regretting the moment I had walked into his bar, but I didn't care. I wasn't looking for sympathy, and I certainly wasn't looking for someone to lecture me about the dangers of drinking too much.

I had spent enough time listening to people tell me what I should do.

Be strong, Santiara.

Move on, Santiara.

Stop crying over someone who doesn't deserve you.

As if healing were as easy as opening a bottle. As if I could simply wake up one morning and decide that everything that had happened to me no longer mattered. They didn't know what it was like to lose not only the person you loved, but also the future you had imagined with him. The little things you had planned together. The promises you had held close. The life you had already begun building in your heart before you even realized that you might be the only one building it.

If only it were that simple.

"Life's already punishing me," I muttered, watching the bartender pour another glass. "If I'm going to suffer anyway, I might as well enjoy myself before it gets worse."

I took the drink and swallowed it in one go.

The alcohol burned my throat, but I welcomed the sensation. At least that pain was something I could understand. It was easier to deal with the burning in my chest than the memories that kept tearing me apart whenever I closed my eyes.

My gaze drifted toward the couples scattered across the bar. A woman leaned against her companion's shoulder while he whispered something that made her laugh. Another man gently brushed a strand of hair away from his girlfriend's face before kissing her forehead.

I looked away.

Once, I had wanted something as simple as that. Nothing extravagant. No grand promises or expensive gifts. I had only wanted a love that wouldn't make me question my worth, a hand that wouldn't let go when things became difficult, and a heart that wouldn't turn against me after I had given it everything.

Apparently, even that had been too much to ask.

My eyes began to sting, and I immediately lifted my glass to hide it. I refused to cry here. I had cried enough in places where no one could see me, in rooms where the walls had witnessed the parts of me I would never allow anyone else to know.

Tonight, I didn't want to remember anything.

I didn't want to think about tomorrow.

And for once, I didn't want to be the woman who had to pretend she was okay.

I just wanted to forget.

Even if it was only for one night.

Even if I had to destroy what little remained of my peace just to silence the memories.

I raised my hand toward the bartender again, ready to demand another drink, when I noticed two men watching me from the other side of the counter. One of them smiled when our eyes met. I immediately looked away, hoping they would take the hint.

They didn't.

I was too tired to deal with another problem. Too broken to entertain anyone's attention. All I wanted was to be left alone with my misery, no matter how pathetic that sounded.

But as one of the men began making his way toward me, I had the uncomfortable feeling that my night was about to become far worse than I had planned.

And for the first time that evening, I wished I had chosen somewhere else to fall apart.